


suncalling

by poalimal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, M/M, Misogyny, POV First Person, POV Outsider, Parent-Child Relationship, Racism, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25570216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: When I was a child, my dad was my hero.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	suncalling

When I was a child, my dad was my hero: he was the man who made the lights brighter. Now that I am older, it is a little more complicated. I certainly do not idolise him anymore. When I come out to the living room one morning in June, I see that he has fallen asleep with the TV on again. 

Ever since abuelo died, Dad's been hanging round my place like some kind of ghost. Abuelo was by all accounts a very rotten man - he was the kind of person who blamed all his misfortune in life on his black father, his black wife, his black children. He never got around to blaming me for anything cus Mom kept me away from him, even after he supposedly mellowed out. I never really figured out where 'mellow' sat on the spectrum of bigotry.

Anyway Dad took care of abuelo till he died; even quit his job at the post office to take care of him full-time. When I asked him why, he said that family takes care of family, like that was the end of it. His generation was raised different, I think: long-suffering and all. If my dad had treated me like abuelo treated him? I wouldn't have offered to let him stay in my guest room, that's for sure. 

That was eight days ago. I shake Dad's shoulder now, exasperated; he's got a big bag of chips open on his chest, he's gotten crumbs all over the couch and floor - I'm gonna get bugs! 

'Dad,' I say, annoyed, when he keeps snoozing, 'Dad, wake up!'

Dad snorts awake, blinking blearily. He smiles when he sees me. I get a pressure in my sinuses, up near my eyes - and all the lights in my apartment pop on.

'Solita,' he murmurs, eyes crinkling up.

Dad's such a ditz. 'Dad!' I say, waving my hand around, 'the lights!, the lights!'

'Oh.' Dad blinks, then pushes himself crinklingly upright. He frowns and furrows his brow, as if concentrating - and the lights all turn off. I feel only a mild bit of dizziness - it's easy enough to shake off.

'Ah,' Dad says, scratching his head, 'I think I missed the bathroom. Sorry.'

'That's ok,' I say, sighing, turning off the TV. His control's always worse in the morning. 'Why're you sleeping out here anyway?' I grab the Sabritones off his chest, crumpling them closed. 'And eating my chips! You know this stuff gives you acid reflux.'

He winces - in the cloudy white light of morning, he looks exhausted. 'Sorry,' he says, 'I couldn't sleep. Bed's a bit too soft.'

I sigh again, and head for the kitchen. 'You can sleep in the car if you're still tired,' I say, rolling the bag of chips up more properly. 'I think we should head up to the house today.'

'Ah!' Dad says, hissing, as he sits all the way up on the couch. 'Oh, my back - oh, Solita - I don't think I can--'

I put the chips in a big Ziplock bag, and zip them up without looking at my dad. Now where is my mini-broom? I say, 'Mom and tía Raquel have been going up to that house all by themselves, everyday since the funeral, when abuelo left everything to you. And I would be really disappointed if you were pushing off all the unwanted labour on the women in your life, because you knew you could get away with it.'

'Ay, Marisol, enough with the female labour, ok?' Dad says, sighing. 'I'll get ready, I'll make breakfast - my back is fine.'

* * *

I smell banana pancakes when I come out from the bathroom, hair slightly poofy from my shower cap. Dad always makes breakfast like I'm still a kid, and it's his weekend to see me. 

I can't say I mind, really. I stick the pancakes in the oven to stay warm, then start to make Dad a green smoothie to take with his meds. 

'You can put all the frozen berries you want in that,' he says, tch-tch-tch'ing as he peers over my shoulder at the mixer, his aftershave sharp and familiar. 'It's still gone be nasty.'

Yea, yea, yea - like he doesn't drink the whole pitcher. I add in an extra handful of kale and stick my tongue out at him. Dad grunt-laughs to himself, shaking his head as he leans back against the counter. He starts playing some 16-bit game on his ancient phone. He's had that thing for like a decade now - it's so beat up, I'm pretty sure it's a public health hazard by now.

I'm pouring out the smoothie into a tall glass when my doorbell rings. 'Is that the Uber?' Dad starts freaking out, the kitchen lights start getting brighter. 'I don't have my socks on yet! My socks!' Uber always stresses him.

'Cálmate, por favor,' I say, exasperated, heading towards the front door, 'I haven't even ordered the Uber yet.' I look through the peephole. My stomach drops: there's a salt-and-blonde-haired white guy out there, with clear stick-up-ass posture. What kind of shitty sense of timing? It just figured the cops would only track me down now. I went to those protests over a fucking month ago.

'Solita, what is it?' Dad is still fretting, now coming out from the kitchen, too. 'Who is it?'

I wave him off, shooting off a quick text to Gigi. 'Dad, it's ok, just go wait in the kitchen. Please.' Dad frowns, but finally, reluctantly, retreats. I take in a deep breath, chain lock the door, and open it a crack. Cops get real shitty when they can hear you're home.

'Yea?' I say.

'Oh, uh, hi,' the guy says, 'hello! You're probably wondering who I am--'

'Yea?' I say.

'--I knew you when you were just a baby,' the guy says, 'I used to serve with your father--'

It's cute that he thinks he's the first cop to look up my father. 'I'm not opening the door unless you have a warrant,' I say.

'Uh,' says the guy, pausing, 'ok. Well. I don't have a warrant, I was coming by to offer my condolences. I just found out your grandfather died--'

'Who is that?' Dad says from behind me. 'Marisol, who are you talking to?'

'Gabriel?' says the guy, trying to angle for a peek inside my place.

'Por fa-vor, Papi, cállate,' I hiss, turning around.

Dad bumps me to the side, ignoring my complaints, and shutting the door. As I watch, he steels his shoulders - then he unlocks and opens the door. 

The guy is still just standing there. He doesn't even seem to notice me, hovering behind my dad. He just stares at Dad.

'--Hey,' the guy says.

My dad inhales sharply - and like a wave, all the lights in the hallway and my apartment go out. From the way a cry of muffled protest rises up, the lights in all my neighbours's apartments have gone out, too. 

I get a wave of vertigo so sudden I nearly stumble. I grit my teeth, ready with a lie on my lips about rolling blackouts. 

But the guy doesn't even blink; instead he smiles. 'Still got it, eh, Lightswitch?' he says.

'--Jack,' my dad says, voice breaking. He barrels straight into Jack's arms, almost knocking him back from the force of his hug. Jack's arms tighten around him; he presses his cheek and his chin against his head. 

I guess he really does know my dad.

He looks at me, I look at them - we stare at each other warily. I've never seen my dad make himself so small.

Well - there's a lot I don't know about him. '--I guess you can come in,' I say, begrudgingly.

Jack smiles with all his teeth. I don't think I'm gonna like this guy. 'Well,' he says, 'thank you.'

**Author's Note:**

> The actual word for 'little sun' would be solito or solcito. I have seen Solcita, Solecita and Solita used as a nickname for people named Marisol - solita/o generally means 'alone' or 'lonely', though.


End file.
